After the spring rain, the people of Wu Jing had fresh new things to talk about: the Marquis of Zhenbei had returned to the capital to report on his border duties and to preside over his son’s wedding — only to spend his first night in the city dragging said son around to various households to beg forgiveness on bended knee.

Word had it that the Marquis first rushed through the night, carrying a renowned physician and a carriage full of precious gifts, to Princess Anyang’s residence to treat Little Qilin’s injury — only to be turned away at the gate, forced to leave the physician and gifts behind to wait outside, and then immediately hauled his son off to pay his respects and apologize to Assistant Minister He of the Ministry of War.

It was early morning, the hour for breakfast, and yet a crowd had already gathered before the He family’s gate to watch the spectacle — watching the Xie heir, his face beaten black and blue and his nose swollen, hands bound behind his back with a riding whip tied around them, be made a public laughingstock.

Lang Jiuchuan stood among the crowd, cradling Jiang Che, idly stroking the white fur that had grown along his spines, watching the Marquis of Zhenbei — clad in dark robes, hair bound with a golden crown, his bearing imposing.

He looked exhausted, the wear of countless winds and frosts etched into his face, the whites of his eyes threaded with red. He had likely not slept a wink.

Understandably so. His son had caused a disaster of this magnitude; as the father, he naturally had to clean up the wreckage.

Lang Jiuchuan glanced at Xie Zejing’s ashen face. Once a son favored by heaven, once so full of proud, brilliant spirit — and now reduced to kneeling in disgrace before someone’s gate, head bowed low. This moment would become a permanent humiliation branded upon him, following him for the rest of his life.

Whether performed or genuine, the Marquis of Zhenbei had at least made all the right surface gestures — thorough and visible.

Lang Jiuchuan hooked her lip in a derisive curve. But what could be done? This was only the beginning.

A figure emerged from within the He residence — it was Assistant Minister He himself, who had not even changed out of his court robes. His expression was cold. He held a brocade box and passed it to the Marquis of Zhenbei, his tone frigid: “My daughter is modest and plain — she truly is not fit to be the young mistress of your esteemed household, a woman so virtuous and magnanimous as to welcome a courtesan’s son with open arms. These are your son’s name card and betrothal tokens. Marquis Xie, consider the engagement between our two families dissolved as of this moment. I trouble you to return my daughter’s name card and betrothal tokens. Our household is in the process of compiling your betrothal gifts and will return them to your residence in due course.”

The Marquis of Zhenbei had already seen this coming, but when it actually happened before him — a public annulment of the engagement — his face still flushed crimson with rising fury. His dignity was thoroughly demolished this day.

Yet his composure ran deep. He accepted the brocade box, his expression one of pained remorse, and said, “It is entirely my fault — years spent garrisoning the border have meant this unworthy son was left to grow up under the women’s hand, where he was led astray and fell into this grievous error, betraying Miss He’s true heart. Brother He, please rest assured. I have made up my mind to bring this wretch back to the border and into the military camp, where I shall personally see to his discipline. In time, he will serve the great Dian dynasty, serve the Emperor, and stand guard over the borders for the people. At least his martial abilities will not go to waste.”

He then landed a vicious kick on Xie Zejing and said, “This wretch has committed such a grave offense. I have brought him here not to beg for the young lady’s forgiveness — that would be too much to ask — but to allow Brother He to deal out punishment in her name. Beat him or scold him, whatever discipline you see fit; let it be a lesson he does not forget. As for the betrothal gifts — there is no need to return them. Consider them a small token of apology from the Marquis of Zhenbei’s household to your daughter. She is a good girl. It is our Xie family that lacked the fortune.”

His words were well-spoken, appropriately humble. First, because he had no moral ground to stand on in this matter. Second — and more practically — as a military man, the one thing he could not afford was to make an enemy of the Ministry of War. If there were battles to be fought and the Ministry found cause to delay military provisions and supplies, how was a war to be waged?

So even with the engagement fallen through, he dared not offend the Assistant Minister of the Ministry of War standing before him, and felt compelled to offer recompense.

The Marquis of Zhenbei shot a glance at Xie Zejing, his eyes full of undisguised disappointment.

Assistant Minister He said coldly, “There is no need to discipline him on our behalf — that would be overstepping and only earn us unnecessary enemies. Out of regard for the years your son has called me Uncle He, I have one word of advice for the young heir: a woman of the pleasure quarters is still a person, and the mother of your child at that. If you intend to cherish her, then cherish her properly — two lives are at stake. One sin is enough. Two more, and I fear your blessings will run thin.”

A muffled sound escaped Jiang Che as he nearly rolled in Lang Jiuchuan’s arms. “This Assistant Minister He is quite something — those are not words of counsel, they’re pure mockery. Look at the Marquis of Zhenbei’s face — it’s gone green.”

“A scholar’s tongue — kills without drawing blood,” Lang Jiuchuan murmured, the ghost of a smile at the corner of her lips.

Assistant Minister He’s words were unmistakably mocking: the Xie heir had taken in a courtesan, fathered an illegitimate child, and the woman’s fate was already predictable. He said what he said precisely to pour a bucket of filth over the Marquis of Zhenbei’s household.

Whatever became of that woman, the fault lay squarely with the Xie heir. If the heir took her in, he would enter his marriage already having sired a bastard son by a courtesan — what respectable family would marry a good daughter into that household afterward? But if the woman were to die, then they would have innocent blood on their hands.

The Marquis of Zhenbei could no longer maintain his composure. The veins at his temple pulsed visibly as he delivered another savage kick to Xie Zejing. “You worthless creature — look at what you’ve done!”

Jiang Che watched him grovel before Assistant Minister He and gave a disdainful click of his tongue. “He’s nothing special. You could take him down with a single Five Thunder Technique.”

“True — but that would be too easy a death.” Lang Jiuchuan’s voice turned cold. “I want to watch him struggle desperately to hold everything together, watch him scheme and calculate with everything he has, only to find that nothing he grasps can be saved. That is despair, is it not?”

The spectacle ended abruptly the moment Assistant Minister He shut his gate.

The Marquis of Zhenbei had Xie Zejing hauled away and turned back, his expression dark. But whether it was the too-bold weight of Lang Jiuchuan’s gaze upon him, or some other instinct — he seemed to sense something and turned his head to look in her direction. His eyes swept over the surging crowd of heads, catching only the faintest glimpse of a slender figure slipping into the shadows.

The Marquis of Zhenbei’s brow drew sharply together. His chest was pounding, beating rapidly and relentlessly. He had not closed his eyes since returning to the capital, and the restlessness within him was climbing higher by the moment.

Yesterday upon entering the city, his first act had been to pay his respects at the palace. He had waited nearly two hours only to be informed that the Emperor was in the middle of a critical stage of elixir refinement with the Daoist Tianqu and could not receive him — he was to rest for two days before presenting himself at court.

He then inquired about his daughter, who served as a consort in the palace, and after slipping a very generous sum in silver, learned that she had offended the Emperor and was confined to her quarters with the restriction not yet lifted.

Troubled as he was, he could not help but think of the news he had received on the road back to the capital: following the unexpected deaths of the two elder Ou family members, the remaining Ou family had returned to their hometown to observe mourning and withdrawn entirely from the power center of Wu Jing.

At the time, he had thought little of it. But learning of his daughter’s confinement, and connecting it to the Ou family’s withdrawal — and then, the thing that unsettled him most deeply: the room in the family temple occupied by the spirit witch had burned, and the woman herself had vanished without a trace. These coincidences, stacked one upon another, gave him an overwhelming sense that calamity was bearing down on him.

But before he had even processed it, he was met on the way out of the palace by the news of his son’s catastrophic blunder. Apologies, a broken engagement — nothing had gone right.

Every source of unease the Marquis of Zhenbei had accumulated on his journey back to the capital was now materializing, wave after wave rolling toward him.

At this point, he had not yet realized there was a hand moving unseen in the shadows, stirring the wind and clouds with one purpose: to drive him into a cage, reduce him to a trapped beast. When he returned to his residence, before he had managed even an hour of rest, he heard the sound of the Denwen Drum being struck — someone had filed a complaint alleging that the Marquis of Zhenbei’s wife, Madam Wen, had permitted her milk-brother to run loan-sharking operations, forcing women into prostitution, seizing farmland by force, and driving multiple families to ruin.